


No Time (Now)

by DivineProjectZero



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mutually unrequited love, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:18:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineProjectZero/pseuds/DivineProjectZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They just can't meet each other halfway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Time (Now)

For Sherlock, it's too early.

It's between a bullet through a cabbie and an arrow through a smuggler. If he were to count the seconds, he would count down from one thousand from the moment John says "Colleague."

In-between steps and deductions, Sherlock calculates the location of where the twinge in his chest echoed the moment that countdown started, and when the countdown ends in-between inside the cab and outside on the street, John says "Amazing."

Sherlock stops, blinks, a millisecond of hesitation between opening the door and stepping out of the cab. He is in the in-between, the space between  _I think I'd like to keep you_  and _I'm yours to be kept_. The words are on the tip of his tongue and his fingertips are inches from John's. Sherlock is skirting the line between  _John is interesting_  and  _John is important_. 

But there is the Work, and John is straight, not-gay, dating Sarah and then someone else, living with Sherlock, maybe-friends-maybe-not, and once the in-between is crossed, there is no going back. 

John asks, "So what next?"

Sherlock says, "Too early to tell." He climbs out and walks away.

* * *

 

For John, it's too late.

It's between a funeral in the rain and a wedding in the sunshine. If he were to count the days, he would count from one to a thousand beginning with the day Sherlock says "Goodbye."

In-between death and resurrection, John catalogs the cracks in his chest that have been spreading ever since he began counting the days, and when he reaches a thousand in-between the door leading out to Baker Street and the door leading into 221B, Sherlock says "I'm not dead."

John stops, blinks, a moment of uncertainty between punching the living daylights out of Sherlock and tugging him down by the lapels and never letting go. He is in the in-between, the space between  _I would have died for you_  and  _I would live for you_. The words are clogging his throat and his palms are an arm's length from Sherlock's hips. John is caught in the space between  _Sherlock is gone_  and  _Sherlock is back_.

But there is Mary, and Sherlock is uninterested, not-dead, fucking off to God-knows-where, abandoning John, maybe-sociopath-maybe-not, and the in-between has already been crossed; there is no going back.

Sherlock asks, "Will you stay?"

John says, "It's too late." He turns around and walks out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Also published on my tumblr.


End file.
